Molly, her hands primly folded in front of her, said, ‘An automatic.’
‘Mueller’s people aren’t licensed for guns. Were you on Mueller’s property?’
She shook her head. ‘We were on the water.’
‘Unbelievable!’
‘That’s what we thought, too, as we were paddling for our lives.’
Gator put down the swim fin he was adjusting. ‘Which guard was it, do you know?’
‘He wasn’t one of the college kids. He’s older, in his thirties maybe. Blond hair. Wears one of those ridiculous soul patches on his chin, so he’s either a sloppy shaver, or going for a retro Frank Zappa look. Poinciana Cove must be his beat because we’d run into him there before.’
‘Before. What’s this before business?’
I bit my thumbnail and tried to look demure. ‘We were collecting sand dollars. There are a lot of really nice ones over there.’
‘Sand dollars! Give me a break. So you were trespassing?’
‘When that man accosted us,’ Molly insisted, ‘we were well below the high-water mark.’
‘And today,’ I hastened to add, ‘we were on the water. On public property, so to speak. That’s what we want to talk to you about.’
‘I think we better sit down.’
Gator retrieved a couple of plastic lawn chairs from underneath a tarp, unfolded them, and placed them side by side on the concrete apron that surrounded his shack. He pulled up an empty barrel, turned it over and sat down facing us. ‘OK. Shoot.’
‘Last night after dinner, Molly and I were sitting on her porch and saw some unusual activity going on over at the Tamarind Tree Resort. Near the runway.’ I went on to explain about the lights, the plane, and the mysterious packages. ‘Molly tells me that she observed similar activity approximately a month ago, around the time that Frank and Sally Parker went missing.’
Gator opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.
Molly shot me a glance. ‘I think we’ve stunned him into silence.’
‘That’s why we went over there this morning,’ I went on. ‘The plane is still parked on the runway, at least it was about an hour ago, but it’s what we saw tied up at the end of the dock that was interesting.’ I stood and rooted in the pocket of my cargo shorts until I found my camera. ‘I took some pictures of it, but I’m afraid my camera got a good dunking.’
I pressed the ON/OFF switch on the camera but, as I had feared, nothing happened. ‘Damn! Must be the battery. I’ll dry it out, then see if it’ll hold a charge.’
I opened a compartment on the side of the camera and pulled out the tiny memory chip. ‘But there shouldn’t be anything wrong with this.’ I held it out. ‘Do you have something you can read it on?’
‘Have you seen my office?’
‘All right, then. I’ll take it back to the house, dry everything out, and see what we have.’ I tucked the chip back into the camera for safekeeping. ‘I can email it to you as an attachment.’
Gator raised both hands, palms out. ‘So, let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what you think you have on that chip.’
‘Frankly, Gator, I’m not sure. It looks like a World War II torpedo, except it’s painted blue. Rusty in spots, pretty banged up. It’s got this propeller thing on the tail.’ I demonstrated by rotating my finger rapidly in the air.
‘How long?’
I shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Thirty feet maybe?’
‘Could it have been a submarine?’
‘It didn’t have a conning tower, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Kind of small for a submarine,’ Molly interjected. ‘You could squeeze a couple of people into it, but there wouldn’t be room enough to swing a cat.’
Gator stood up, tugged at the waistband of his shorts. ‘I think I’d better have a look. Have you called the police to report the shooting?’
‘I would have, but we don’t have a generator, so my cellphone ran out of juice last night.’
‘That’s all right. We can use mine. Then, I’m going to get you ladies back to your cottages.’
For the first time since we set off on our morning adventure, Molly smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d forgotten for a moment that my boat is out of commission.’
Gator dropped me at my dock, then ferried Molly to hers. I dragged myself along the planking, the vision of a long, hot soapy shower shimmering like a mirage at the end of the sidewalk. I’d actually taken my clothes off and climbed into the shower enclosure before I remembered – no power, no water pump, no water. Stark naked, I leaned back against the wall and bawled.
I was taking a shower at Molly’s when the power came back on. After Molly cut off her generator, I did a little happy dance around her garden.
Once we were sure it wasn’t a fluke, I removed my meat from Molly’s freezer and carried it back to Windswept where my refrigerator was humming away. Never came so close to hugging a major appliance.
I’d asked Molly what she wanted to do about repairing her dinghy. Pleading exhaustion, she went down for a nap. She’d call the insurance company when she woke up.
I reset all the clocks, stunned to discover that it was not yet noon.
When I finally plugged my iPhone in to its cradle, there were three voice messages from Paul, each increasingly more frantic. He’d heard about the Parkers on the news and was home in Annapolis, awaiting my call.
But he wasn’t. When I called, I got the machine. He wasn’t at Emily’s either, but I had a nice chat with my daughter and her family – skipping all the scary bits – then called Paul back, leaving a message that I was fine, and not to worry.
Then I brewed myself a cup of hot tea, and thought about what I would do next.
If it hadn’t been for Molly’s ruined boat, I could half convince myself that the previous night had been a dream. As I sipped my tea, a phantom Paul perched on my shoulder asking for a rational explanation, so I tried to give him one.
First, the airplane. Could be Rudy Mueller, running late, returning to his resort.
How about the packages we’d seen? Nothing more than luggage. Or supplies in bulk.
I still didn’t know what to make of the mini-sub. It looked old, decrepit. I knew they sank old ships to make artificial reefs. Maybe that’s what Mueller had planned for the sub.
There was one way to find out, though. Ask.
I changed into white jeans and a flowered top, found my boat shoes under the bed, and drove Pro Bono over to the settlement. I had to eat lunch somewhere, I reasoned, and it might as well be at the Tamarind Tree. Even though I didn’t own a golf cart, it was an easy, half-mile stroll down a paved path to the entrance of the resort where Lou was on duty at the gate. Amazingly, he recognized me. Maybe my picture was posted inside the gatehouse: BOLO, Hannah Ives, Troublemaker.
‘Good to see you again, Mrs Ives.’
‘You, too, Lou. Are they serving lunch today?’
‘They are. Go on in.’
I skirted the gate and ambled up the path.
At the Tamarind Tree restaurant, I stood at the wooden podium. My fingers traced the intricately carved decorations – geckos chasing each other’s tails – while I waited for the hostess to seat me. To my surprise, the woman who crossed the room to greet me like her best friend from college was Gabriele Mueller.
‘How lovely to see you, Hannah. I was wondering when we’d have the pleasure of entertaining you and your husband.’ Her eyes flicked right and left, checking the empty air behind me. ‘Is Paul with you today?’
Mind like a steel trap, our Gabriele. Met us only once and had our names down pat. My brain, on the other hand, remained largely untrained in spite of taking Kevin Trudeau’s Mega Memory course. If I remembered a name for more than five minutes, it was a miracle.
‘Sadly, he’s gone back to Baltimore on business. So it’s just me!’ I chirped.